


The Fruits of Civilization

by puckling



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Dildos, M/M, Masturbation, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckling/pseuds/puckling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was far too easy to imagine Nate Fick (and then, in the privacy of Brad’s head, with his dick in his hand, he could be Nate) fucking himself instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fruits of Civilization

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the two lovely ladies who looked this over, Osaraba and Novelusername. Any and all remaining mistakes are my own.

Ray was conducting an impromptu seminar on radio call signs when Brad decided he should take care of business. “And don’t even think about fucking around with getting air support, all their signals were made up by like, retarded howler monkeys or something, plus the officers--Brad where are you going?”

Ray had a little semicircle (Trombley, Rolling Stone, Garza, Christeson, and Stafford) sitting around him like six-year-olds listening to a kindergarten teacher. A kindergarten teacher with Tourette’s; not like the really wholesome looking ones whose kids sent them letters. Then again, you shouldn’t underestimate the wholesome looking ones.

“I’m going to the head,” Brad told the upturned faces, snatching a copy of Hustler for cover. “Don’t bother me unless brass pulls its thumb out of its asshole and finally starts this damn war.”

“But honey,” Ray said, pulling falsetto, “I thought you said you’d stop looking at porn once we got married.”

Brad just gave him the finger as he headed out of the tent.

“Right, while Brad’s off removing the giant stick up his ass, the rest of you pay attention,” Ray said. “Especially you Trombley, if we get hit I wanna be casevac’ed, not sitting around waiting for the hajjis--”

Brad walked over to the shitters, taking the longer route that avoided the command tent. There was no point in giving Murphy’s Law any further ammunition, especially since Brad secretly suspected there was a clause in it that stated “and if you’re a Marine not only will everything go wrong, it will fuck you up the ass sideways while doing so”. Brad only liked to be fucked on his own terms.

Validating Brad’s faith in the perversity universe, he ran into the LT.

“Sir,” Brad said, fighting the urge to hide the Hustler behind his back. The LT was a Marine, not some sort of fucking nun, nothing wrong with him seeing Brad’s cockbook.

“Brad,” the LT said back, his eyes flicking down to the magazine and back. The corners of his mouth were tense and he looked tired. None of them had got much sleep in the past 48 hours. “Better make it quick, latest rumor has it that they’re going to give the order to step off in less than an hour.”

“Really sir?” Brad tried for an amused sort of tone. The constant waiting was grating on his nerves, but the LT couldn’t do anything about it either. No use stressing the man out more. “Because if we’re listening to rumors now, I’d like to note we should have left at oh dark hundred last night.”

“True enough,” the LT agreed, lifting his shoulder and giving a little smile. “But this is from Captain Patterson, so the source is reliable at least.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Brad said, fiddling with the magazine absently. The LT’s eyes flickered again.

“I’ll let you know ASAP if any official orders materialize,” he said, before nodding and walking off.

Brad finished his walk to the latrines a little quicker. He found a shitter that wasn't too rank and turned the door to "occupied". Brad figured if worse came to worse and they did finally go Oscar Mike while he was in the middle of a jack Ray would come and get him.

Brad pulled down his pants and briefs and settled himself, flipping Hustler open. Might as well see if there was anything particularly inspiring. It turned out that the March issue was seasonal, with a St. Patrick's themed spread of a buxom red head fucking herself with a bright green dildo.

It was far too easy to imagine Nate Fick (and then, in the privacy of Brad’s head, with his dick in his hand, he could be Nate) fucking himself instead.

For a group of Marines all living in each other's back pockets, Nate was surprisingly well covered. Brad had only seen him shirtless once, waiting outside of the showers. He was pale, and had a sprinkling of freckles where his shoulders met his neck. In his fantasy Brad was sitting on his heels and had Nate kneeling in the vee of his legs. Brad would watch over Nate’s shoulder as he thrust the dildo in and out. It would, in fact, be very green. Brad imagined running his hands over those freckles, marveling at how smooth the skin was.

Brad'd be pressed up against Nate nice and tight, his cock rubbing against Nate's lower back as Nate's hips snapped up and down. Obviously Nate would fight it, try not to look like the total cockslut Brad knew (jacked over, hoped, imagined) he was, but he wouldn't be able to help himself. Brad would loosely curl his hand around Nate's cock and Nate would moan and arch and thrust faster. His movements would be fast but small, as if as much as Nate loved Brad's hand on his dick and the dildo shoved up his ass, he couldn't bear to separate himself from Brad's cock. Brad would thrust up against Nate, keeping them in rhythm and practically glued to each other, pushing Nate into fucking his hand. Jesus, it would be so fucking hot.

Then, when Nate couldn't help it, when his breath caught on every thrust in and every time that Brad tightened his hand it was coated in Nate's precome, Brad would remove his hand. Nate would protest, “Are you shitting me?”, would half turn towards Brad to bitch him out and demand to know what sort of bullshit fucking he thought he was conducting here, but Brad would shush him, make him face forward again.

“Don’t stop,” Brad would say, and even though Nate would make annoyed noises he would start up again and Brad would feel his dick twitch in envy as the dildo slid in and out. But as much as Brad wanted to, he wouldn't fuck Nate right away. Sometimes anticipation made a good thing even better.

He'd run his fingers round Nate's hole, feeling how it was stretched, how Nate just opened up and took the dildo, how he'd take Brad's cock. Nate's breath would come quicker, obviously excited about Brad's fingers and what they promised.

"You want my cock?" Brad would ask.

"You all talk or are you going to fuck me some time this century?" Nate would challenge, but his voice wouldn’t be entirely steady. Brad would just smile and run his fingers round and round where Nate's skin met the dildo.

Nate would swear, would spew all sorts of filth from those beautiful lips, would even, Brad shuddered and started jerking at his cock in earnest, would even try to order Brad to fuck him, “Stop being such a cocktease, I can feel you back there, just put it in me already,” but Brad would wait.

“No yet,” he would say hoarsely, even though what he really wanted to do was turn Nate around and fuck him till the only thing coming out of Nate's mouth was moans and Brad's name.

Finally Nate would crack and he would say "Please Brad, please, I want your cock". Then Brad would tear out the dildo and slide into Nate, and even after Nate had been fucking himself open for Brad, he'd still be so tight that it would be like the first time anyone had put anything up Nate's ass.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight, fuck,” Brad would swear.

“Less talking, more fucking,” Nate would say, grabbing at Brad’s hips, dropping what remained of the controlled officer act and sucking two of Brad’s fingers into his mouth.

They would have both had enough of teasing at that point, would want it fast and hard. When Brad thrust in Nate would meet him, and they'd fuck like it was the last thing they'd do. And Nate would moan “Brad, Brad”, would look cockdrunk and jack himself while sucking on Brad's fingers, and would come like an exploding mortar, dragging Brad right along with him.

It was so vivid that when Brad opened his eyes, his hand sticky with come, he was half surprised that Nate wasn't right there with him.

Brad wiped himself off with some toilet paper, finishing just as someone pounded on the door.

“It's urgent, Brad. We're fuckin' almost Oscar Mike.” Ray sounded a little sorry, but the Marines waited for no man.

Brad sighed and pulled up his pants. It was going to be a damn long war.


End file.
